Under The Rose
by CrimsonLucidity
Summary: "'I dream of the winter in my heart turning to spring...'" In hospital after the events of Red Eye, unable to do anything else, Jackson thinks. He thinks about himself. He thinks about Lisa... Inspired by Under The Rose by HIM. R


**I own precisely... nothing. Jackson, Lisa and Red Eye all belong to, like... Wes Craven and other people, and song lyrics belong to, urm, Ville Valo, HIM, and, like, Sire Records or something.**

**This is just something that popped into my mind when I was in the car, listening to my Dark Light CD. I had to write it down, or the gremlins wouldn't have left me alone for a _looong _time. I hope the rating's OK, tell me if not.**

**Lyrics are from the song 'Under The Rose' by HIM, as you could probably have guessed...

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_I dream of the winter in my heart turning to spring_

_While the ice gives way under my feet_

_And so I drown with the sun_

_I've been burning in water and drowning in flame_

_To prove you wrong and scare you away_

_I admit my defeat and want back home_

_In your heart_

_Under the rose_

_I open my eyes with a sigh of relief_

_As the warmth of summer's sunlight dances around me_

_And I see you, with dead leaves in your hands_

_I've been burning in water and drowning in flame_

_To prove you wrong and scare you away_

_I admit my defeat and want back home_

_In your heart _

_Under the rose_

_I've been burning in water and drowning in flame_

_To prove you wrong and scare you away_

_I admit my defeat and want back home_

_In your heart, under the rose_

_In your heart, under the rose_

_In your heart_

_Under the rose._

I lost control.

In front of her, but I know that really I lost it before then. Before I'd even met her in person, I had lost all of that control, that thing I craved for so many years. Not control of her (although I lost that, too), but of myself, and I hated it.

And, at times, I hate _her_. Hate is so easy. It was, after all, her fault. If only she hadn't been so beautiful, so selfless, so kind, yet so enigmatic. If only she hadn't hidden the truth, and that scar. If only she hadn't been so resourceful, so tough.

I got angry at her – _really _angry – twice, but it wasn't for the reasons that she might have thought. The little bitch ruined my plans, tried to escape, and stuck a fucking _pen _in my neck... yet all I could feel for her was admiration. My Lisa, she was resourceful all right. I mean, who else would have thought of it, a _pen_? And that trick with the soap was much smarter than I would have given her credit for. But as soon as the admiration struck, it vanished, replaced by anger. Not because she tried to escape – a few have tried that before, albeit nowhere near as effectively – but because she, and she alone had, in a few short weeks, shattered the walls, the barriers of emotion that had taken me literally decades to build.

So I hurt her. I wanted to show her, to convince her that I _was_ emotionless, I really was, and I was no matter how much she cried or looked at me with those beautiful eyes...

And then her secret came out, and I felt more strange feelings in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn't help but feel almost sorry for her. And then she stabbed me, with that pen, and it hurt, it _hurt_, and then I felt oddly sad, and that hurt too. And then I was impressed, of her originality and resourcefulness, before realising what was happening to me and letting anger take over. Anger feels safe.

Now I lie rigid in this comfortless hospital bed, with all my precious barriers in glittering shards around me, and I hate her. I hate her because it's her fault, it's all her fault, but I love her, I love her and _that's_ her fault too.

Because I can't, I can't love, I can't feel. Feelings are weaknesses, and love is pain. I loved my parents, I loved my little brother, but they're gone and at first it hurt, but I learned. I learned from my mistakes.

Except now all of that soothing apathy is gone and it hurts again.

But sometimes I think... maybe I _can_ love. Maybe, maybe it'd be OK, sometimes. And then I wish that I could go back in time, back to the airport, and I wish that my 'phone had been stolen or the Keefe's had been in a car crash or had changed their plans and gone somewhere else, and I wish that things could have been different between me and my Lisa.

Because now it's going to be _much_ harder to make her fall in love with me again.

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**How was it? OK? Awful? Do tell me, I'm dying to know. Give this bored 13-year-old something to look forward to!**

**Oh, and, for anyone who read this who is reading Our Lives Have Just Begun, if I don't update that today or tomorrow, chances are that I won't update for about two weeks; I'm going on holiday. To America! I'm excited, even though the plane journey's gonna take, like, 12 hours...**


End file.
